


Crawling Up from Six Feet Under

by pterawaters



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Death Fix, Gun Violence, Magic, Memory Loss, Multi, Nemeton, Post-Season/Series 04, Shapeshifter Allison Argent, Wingfic, Wolf Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3447284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/pseuds/pterawaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison is sent back to Beacon Hills with gaps in her memory, a new form, and a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crawling Up from Six Feet Under

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohhazardous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhazardous/gifts).



> Graciously beta read by [chocoholicannanymous](http://chocoholicannanymous.tumblr.com/).

The twigs and rocks on the damp earth bite into Allison's feet as she runs, ignoring them the best she can. She has to–

Allison _knows_ she has to keep moving. She has to get– 

She has to–

"Ow!" Allison cries out when pain sears through her body, tugging her back by the shoulder. She looks back and sees something big and feathery trapped on one of the tree branches. The other end of the big, feathery, black – wing, it looks like a – wing rests on her back. Is it tied on somehow?

How did Allison get here?

She flexes the muscles in her shoulders, trying to figure oh how the wing is attached, so she can untie it and keep _moving_. It twitches. The whole wing twitches. 

There's another wing on her right and that one twitches too, like it's alive. It brushes against one of the trees, and Allison feels the feathers move in their anchors to the wing.

Allison's breath stops short when she realizes the wings aren't just tied onto her. They're growing out of her back. 

Allison has _wings_ growing out of her _back_!

Her knees give out and Allison drops to the forest floor, her face cold with moisture before she realizes she's crying. Throat raw, she wails, more overwhelmed with the _wrongness_ of her body than anything else. 

What happened? Allison doesn't even remember how she got here, or what she's running from. There's just this tightness in her chest urging her forward and it's too much, it's–

With a wrenching sob Allison sinks to the ground, her trapped wing mercifully tugging free. She feels weight pressing down on every inch of her body, like she's being buried alive. She tries to claw her way out from under the dirt, but there's only air and she ends up scratching her arms instead. 

Allison's nails are sharper than they should be, and dark in the moonlight, like they're painted. Her teeth feel too big for her mouth, and her feet are bare and cold resting on the damp earth beneath her.

She's got her head between her knees and the wings are wrapped around her, like some bizarre sort of tent, when Allison hears a twig snap. Her head pops up and she holds her breath, gently parting her wings so she can see. The noise is followed by a shuffling, crunching footstep and then another. 

Allison can't control the wild beating of her heart or the way her palms turn clammy with sweat. She wants to get up and run, but then she'd be running the wrong way (the wrong way from what, she doesn't know), and her body just won't cooperate with that.

The woods are dark, but there's moonlight and when the figure steps into a clear space, Allison sees that it's a dog. _A wolf_ , her brain suggests helpfully. Allison tries not to make a move, but she can't stop from breathing long enough, and every time she does take a breath, the leaves under her rustle ever so slightly. The wolf has to be able to hear it, right?

It woofs softly, almost like it's announcing its presence, and takes a few hesitant steps toward Allison. She gets the distinct feeling that it's looking at her, and trying to figure her out. The pressure of the gaze takes Allison's breath again, and she scrambles forward at it, a strange growl escaping her lips.

The wolf dances away, but circles back, looking at her again. With a short whine, it tilts its head at her. Allison never had a dog growing up, and maybe wolves aren't dogs, but she thinks it's trying to figure her out.

Allison isn't interested in being figured out, especially by someone who's not _her_. She stands up and takes an aggressive step toward the wolf, her wings snapping out as far as they'll go without getting trapped again. "Go away!" she cries, her voice not much more than a croak, like she hasn't used it recently. 

The wolf doesn't move, but keeps staring at her instead. She can't quite read its expression in the moonlight, and so she can't get a read on this behavior. Not that Allison know much more besides how to pet a dog while its owner holds the leash. She has no idea how a wild wolf is going to behave.

Its eyes still on her, the wolf backs up a few feet. 

When it still won't look away from her, Allison demands, "What?"

The woof it gives her sounds almost playful and its mouth falls open in a dog-like grin. Allison watches, holding her breath, as it turns away, jogging a dozen yards before stopping in another patch of moonlight and woofing again, eyes back on her. 

"You want me to follow you?" Allison asks, like the wolf is going to give her an answer. 

It nods and woofs again. Allison remembers that werewolves exist, and that some can shift to their completely inhuman form. 

Allison stands, leaning forward to offset her shifted center of gravity. "Do I know you?"

The wolf's eyes flash brilliant blue, and they remind her of someone, but she can't think of the name. It's on the tip of her tongue, but before she can force it out, the wolf starts running away again. 

Desperate to fill the missing gaps in her memory, Allison hurries to follow the wolf. She's not nearly as fast as it, weighed down by the wings on her back and her inferior vision in the dark, but the wolf waits for her when she falls too far behind. 

_Running, plunging through icy water, begging, no, please, I have to go back–_

Allison catches her breath, controlling it because she needs to run now. She doesn't have time to be weak. She doesn't have time to figure out what's going on. Her feet ache, but she knows the wolf is leading her in the right direction. 

A thunderclap echoes through the woods, which is strange, considering Allison can't smell the impending rain. Then the numbness fades and a searing pain rips through Allison's left wing, blood spattering down onto her hair. She cries out, stumbling to the side. Eyes darting around the forest, Allison tries to place where the shot came from. God, her mother would be so disappointed that she can't place it immediately. 

The wolf growls, darting back toward Allison and shifting back into man-shape as he stands in front of her arms out toward the woods. "Stop!" he cries, like he's trying to make peace with the invisible enemy, unafraid of it.

"Derek," Allison whispers to the werewolf's bare backside, finally remembering his name. 

Beyond Derek, a figure steps out of the woods. Allison can't be sure of the face in the darkness, but when she speaks, her voice sounds the slightest bit familiar. "Sorry, Der. Didn't know the demon lady was with you."

" _Demon lady_?" Allison asks, her attention split between the newcomer and the way the pain in her wing quickly vanishes. 

The woman moves closer, a rifle balanced on her hip. The pose reminds Allison of someone – Aunt Kate – but the woman's face doesn't look familiar. She looks around Derek and her eyes widen. "Oh, shit. Is that who I think it is?"

Derek's reply must be silent, but he moves to the side to give his friend a better look at Allison. 

"What the hell happened to you?" The woman asks, like she _knows _Allison.__

A growl escapes Allison's throat, and it strikes her how odd she finds the sound _isn't_. "If you're done shooting at me, I need to go."

"Where?" the woman asks, but Allison is already running. 

The air is cold, crisp, and it smells like it might be morning soon. There's no time to waste. After a few moments, Derek's at Allison's side, a wolf again. Allison thinks she likes him better this way.

They run for what feels like miles before Allison realizes they're off course. "No," she tells Derek, pausing to catch her breath. "No, we need to go that way." She points to her left, toward the direction Derek's been veering away from. The sky is turning from, black to grey, and there's no time left. "We have to go _now_!"

Derek does this little wolf-like shrug before following Allison. She follows the path she feels is right, though she couldn't say why it feels right, or what she's supposed to do once she gets there. All she knows is that it's important. It's the most important thing she's ever done. 

_"Before the sun rises?"_ Allison hears herself ask. She remembers the answer being affirmative, though she can't remember who gave the answer. 

And then she and Derek step into the clearing around the nemeton. "Oh," Allison says, that part of the memory coming back to her. 

_"We need to send you back," says the crone, her withered finger tapping Allison on the nose. "We need you living to seal the gateway."_

The components of the spell slot into place and she turns to Derek, eyes wide with horror. Why didn't she remember before? "We need Scott. And Stiles. Here. Before the sun comes up!"

Derek nods and sprints off, his howl echoing through the forest as he runs. 

There were other pieces to the spell. A flower. Allison spots it growing at the edge of the clearing, the blossom closed against the nighttime air. She grasps it, again noticing her long, dark, sharp nails. They remind her of Scott's claws. Maybe they are claws. Allison uses them to pull the flower off its stalk. 

Next is a-a ... Next is a _feather_. Allison looks up and back at her wings. She can't tell where the one was shot. It must've healed already. Claws. Healing. Allison doesn't want to think about what that means. She plucks one of the long feathers out of her left wing, wincing at the momentary, pinching pain. 

Taking both the items, Allison walks over to the nemeton. A sick pulsing emanates from it, pushing her back, but Allison trudges forward, climbing up onto the stump, her bare feet rough against the ridged wood. 

A figure slips into the clearing, almost silent. She announces herself by clearing her throat. 

Allison says, "I don't remember your name."

"Braeden," she says, circling the nemeton warily, like she can feel it too. "I suppose death isn't great on the memory."

Death. "Is that where I've been?" It makes sense. Wrinkling her nose, Allison sits, setting down the flower and the feather. "I think I crawled out of my grave tonight. I remember the dirt."

Braeden's voice is surprisingly melodic when she says, "Sure looks like the dirt remembers you."

A laugh escapes Allison's lips. Looking down at the items she's placed on the nemeton, Allison sighs. "I was sent back. To close it. I think something worse is trying to come through."

Allison can't quite see it in the fading moonlight, but she gets the distinct impression Braeden is making a face.

A laugh bubbles up through Allison's throat and she scratches helplessly at the nemeton with one claw. "It's funny, right? Something worse than _this_." Allison flaps the wings on her back, the downdraft blowing through the clearing, rustling the leaves on the forest floor.

Braeden takes a few steps until she's standing in front of Allison. "Once you get used to them, they're kind of pretty."

Laughing again, Allison wipes the wetness from her left eye and then her right. "Uh-huh." She gasps with a sudden thought. "Scott is going to see me like this! I can't– He can't–"

"Allison!" Braeden wraps her hands around both of Allison's forearms. "Keep it together. You're alive, right?"

Allison nods. She has to be alive. It's the only way the spell to close the nemeton would work. "I just don't understand why she would send me back like _this_." She raises her wings and lets them fall again, unnerved by how natural it feels to control them.

"I imagine death has to change a person," Braeden says, letting go of Allison. One of Braeden's hands pauses at her own neck, though Allison can't make out what it is Braeden is touching. A necklace, maybe?

"Perhaps," Allison agrees, concentrating on her breath the way her mother taught her to do when there's nothing left but to wait. She's not quite sure what will happen when the sun rises, but there's a vague recollection that it's going to be bad.

After a few minutes walking around the clearing, Braeden approaches the nemeton, leaning on it. "This thing doesn't look much like a door."

"Mostly it's a beacon," Allison replies, mind still on counting her breaths as they ease in and out of her body. "But the sacrifices made it powerful enough to be used as a door. I think."

"A door for what?"

Allison shrugs, but the old woman's word for it pops into Allison's head, so she says it out loud, "Evil."

Braeden shivers. "Isn't there enough of that here already?"

The question might not be rhetorical, but Allison doesn't answer it either way. She's fairly certain she hears footsteps approaching fast. It takes a few more seconds, but then Braeden turns toward the sound as well. Allison catches a glimpse of movement through the trees and knows it has to be now or never. She reaches down to her ankle, but there's no sheath strapped there, no knife. She's only wearing the dress they must've buried her in.

"I need," Allison says, the words sticking in her throat. "I-I need a knife. And a lighter."

Braden pulls a switchblade from her jacket pocket, rolling it, still closed, across the surface of the nemeton. Grabbing it up, Allison opens the knife and cuts the back of her arm, just above the elbow. The wound bleeds, and when Allison wipes away the blood with one of the flower's leaves, it's already healed. She ignores what the healing speed has to mean. It's not important right now.

A lighter clatters onto the nemeton beside Allison, Braeden looking at her expectantly. Allison ignores the look, because she doesn't need the lighter quite yet. She needs Scott and Stiles first.

Derek reaches the clearing first, Scott behind him, with Stiles on his back. Stiles looks more than a little put out. Scott stops short, staring at Allison, his mouth dropping open and Stiles sliding from his back. "Allison?"

"I need blood," Allison says, waving away all the questions she can see on Scott's face. "Yours and Stiles'."

"To _drink_?" Stiles asks, peeking at her from over Scott's shoulder. 

Allison sighs. "No! Just– just come here! There's no time."

Scott looks at Braeden, and then at Derek, like he's asking them something – no doubt whether he should trust Allison or not. It's not until Derek nods earnestly that Scott starts moving toward Allison. He holds out his hand to her, and she takes it, marveling at how warm his skin feels. 

Maybe the crone lied. Maybe Allison isn't really living at all. Why else would she have these ridiculous wings on her back? 

In any case, Allison takes up the knife and pushes back Scott's sleeve. She makes a cut on the outside of his forearm, which makes Scott hiss, but he doesn't flinch away. Before Allison can smear Scott's blood on the flower, it retracts back into his body, the wound healing seamlessly. "Shit."

Scott laughs, his smile as radiant as ever. It makes Allison's heart flip, but she ignores the feeling, knowing Scott's not for her. Not anymore. 

Using the claws on his other hand, Scott slices through his arm and holds it out to Allison, letting her collect his blood before the wound heals again. The smile he gives Allison this time is sad, but trusting. Allison wants to believe she's earned that from Scott, but part of her thinks maybe he's just glad to see her alive, and she hasn't really earned anything at all.

Stiles stalks up to them, his lips pressed tightly together with determination. He holds out his arm – to Scott, not Allison – and says, "Do it quick, before I pass out."

"Do the outside, just above his elbow," Allison tells Scott. "It won't hurt as much."

Stiles winces, pressing his eyes tightly shut and turning his head away. Scott follows Allison's direction and makes the cut. It bleeds instantly, and Allison gathers a few drops onto a clean part of the flower. 

"Thank you," Allison says to Scott, taking the flower back to the nemeton. Braeden's standing there, her lighter in her hand, flame already dancing atop it. Derek stands next to Braeden, watching the proceedings intently. Allison feels stupid, doing this magic spell, when she doesn't know the first thing about magic aside from this one thing. Derek grew up with this stuff, and yet instead of critiquing her technique, he's letting her wrap the feather around the flower stem, and light the flower petals with Braeden's lighter. "This should prove to the nemeton that we're still alive, that we didn't actually sacrifice ourselves."

"And that's all the proof an evil tree stump needs, huh?" Braeden asks.

Shrugging and fighting off a smirk, Allison holds the flower over the nemeton as it wilts, dries, and then burns. Ashes begin to fall and she lowers the flower to make sure they land on the nemeton. Eventually, the flower has dried enough that the flames start to lick down against Allison's hands. She places the flower onto the nemeton and steps back.

Sunlight breaks over the treeline.

The flame goes out and everything wrenches sideways.

~~~~

Allison dreams of flying, the wind in her eyes and ruffling through the feathers on her wings. There's only forest around her, the sun muted behind the clouds, and the air damp with fog. It smells like a home she's never known, but recognizes all the same.

She wakes up in the dark, laying on a bed that feels foreign, but smells like her father. Gasping, Allison sits up, reaching back and finding her wings gone. There's an aching emptiness there, even as wrong as they felt when they'd been there.

If the wings had ever been there at all. 

The room turns out to be a hotel room that her father's been living out of for the past few months. It's a miracle Allison's alive again, just as she was before she died almost a year ago. Allison tries to be happy for her father, she tries to hug him back and make conversation and eat the food he puts in front of her, but nothing seems real.

The walls aren't far enough apart. The ceiling is too low.

She slips away when her father goes out for a business meeting. Jogging feels too slow, but she can't bring herself to get inside a car. Eventually, she makes it out of town and into the preserve. A few dozen yards past the treeline, Allison takes the first deep breath in what feels like years. The air is damp and clean. 

She walks slowly now, wandering through the trails in the underbrush. A bird flies overhead, and Allison feels intensely jealous in a way she'd never felt before dying. Heavy footsteps announce someone's arrival, and Allison turns to see Braeden there, twirling a black feather in one of her hands. "Looks like I owe Derek twenty bucks," she says, leaning back against a tree.

Allison has to clear her throat before she can respond. "Why's that?"

Braeden nods down to the ground between her and Allison. It's littered with black feathers here and there, some on the dirt and some caught in the ferns and bushes to the sides of the trail.

Confused, Allison looks up as she asks, "Where did they come from?"

Braeden nods back over her shoulder. "There's a trail of them leading back to the road."

"Back to the road?" Has something been following Allison? Where has it gone? Is it dangerous? Braeden doesn't look particularly afraid. Neither does Derek, who enters the clearing on two legs, his expression this strange mix of worry and hope. Both of them look at Allison intently. No. "You can't be serious." Allison crouches down and picks up one of the feathers. "These can't be mine."

"Sometimes," Derek says, taking two steps closer to Allison, "the shape we take reflects the person we are."

"We?" Allison asks, not quite sure what to do with the feather in her hand. "What do you mean we?"

"Shapeshifters." Derek's eyes glow bright blue and a strange rippling tingle passes through Allison. Derek continues, "I don't think you died, Allison."

"I went _somewhere_ ," she insists, dropping the feather and curling her fingers into fists without really thinking about it. "The–the woman, she taught me the spell."

Something sharp presses into Allison's palm, making her jump. She looks down at her hands and each of her fingers has turned into a sharp, black claw. Everything feels surreal and Allison staggers before finding her balance again. 

Derek holds out his hands, his own claws out. "See?"

"How did this happen?" Allison asks, her breath rushing fast in and out of her lungs. " _When_?"

Derek shrugs. "I don't know."

Allison doesn't want to believe it, but somehow it makes sense with what she's been feeling the past few days. On a curious impulse, Allison thinks about where her wings should be. Her whole body shivers and erupts, fabric tearing as her wings appear. Allison has to cross her arms over her front to keep the tattered remains of her shirt from falling away.

"That's good," Derek says, his mouth open as he looks up at her wings. "Can you go further?"

It seems like Allison should ask what Derek means by that, but there's a nagging part of her brain that seems to already know. She pushes at it and in an instant, she's half as tall, covered in feathers, and her arms have completely changed into wings. Allison flaps those wings and raises into the air a few feet, kicking away her shoes and pants. 

Derek smiles with a surprised chuckle. "Wow."

Allison drops back to the ground, landing unsteadily on claws instead of feet.

Braeden takes a few steps closer and says, "You are by far the biggest crow I've ever seen."

_Crow?_ Allison tries to speak, but it comes out as a scratchy caw. She spreads out her wings out and sees freedom. Jumping away a few steps to get clear of both her companions, Allison gathers her strength and flaps her wings. She gains altitude surprisingly fast, but it's not straight up and she almost careens into a tree before dropping back down. Crashing into a bush, Allison decides that maybe she should start out somewhere open. She reaches down inside her mind and pulls back on the part that feels like human Allison.

It's only after she stands up that Allison realizes she's naked. "Oh!" she cries, throwing her arms around herself and putting a tree between her and the others.

There's some shuffling around and then footsteps and Braeden comes into view, holding Allison's clothes. "Here." As she hands the clothes over, Braeden looks Allison up and down with this appraising look that makes Allison blush.

"Thanks," Allison says, pulling on her pants first, and then her tattered shirt. When Braeden offers her jacket, Allison takes it gratefully. "Thanks, again." The jacket smells nice, like Braeden's shampoo, and a little bit like Derek. With a sigh, she admits, "I don't want to go home."

"Pancakes?" Derek asks, and it takes Allison a moment to realize that it's an offer.

Before Allison can respond, Braeden elaborates. "We were going to go out for pancakes. You in?"

Allison nods. "Yeah. That sounds great."

Her stomach rumbles for the first time since she crawled out of the earth. Maybe this is going to be okay.


End file.
